He said, "Lady Somervell. You were there at the reception for the Duke of Wellington. You attended Lady Somervell when I was detained by His Royal Highness." He leaned forward as if to emphasise his words. "As I requested of you!"
"She left before your arrival, my lord."
Sillitoe leaned back, his head resting on the chair.
"Sir Graham, do not take me for a fool. I know all of that. She left because she was angered by remarks made by Lord Rhodes, his arrogance in introducing Lady Bolitho as an honoured guest. It was an insult."
"The last thing I wanted was for her to be humiliated!"
Sillitoe regarded him coldly. "She was not. She was angry. Had I been there, I would have spoken out rather forcefully."
Bethune looked away. "I know. I was in no position to prevent it."
Sillitoe smiled. "Had you known about it beforehand, I would not be sitting here now." His eyes flashed. "And neither, sir, would you!"
Bethune said, "I wrote to Lady Somervell, to explain. But she had gone down to Falmouth. I shall endeavour to……"
Sillitoe said quietly, "I thought perhaps you had mislaid her London address?" He watched, waiting for some sign, some hint. But there was none. Bethune might deceive his wife, but he doubted even that. He held out his hand and opened it slowly.
This piece of paper has her address written upon it." He saw Bethune's eyes widen; there was a certain anxiety as well. He felt his anger returning. "It was found on a man I now know to be Charles Oliphant, at one time a captain in command of the seventy-four Frobisher."
Bethune stared at it. "She gave it to me. In case I had any news of Sir Richard. I must have mislaid it when……"
"When Oliphant came crawling to you to beg for a command before the truth became known."
"I do not understand." Bethune leaned forward. "Please tell me, if anything has happened to disturb Lady Somervell, I must know!"
Sillitoe waited, counting the seconds. "Oliphant was waiting for her in Chelsea. The house was empty; she was alone." He paused. "Mainly because she was allowed to proceed there without an escort." He saw the shots slam home. "She was attacked, but I had received word about Oliphant. People tell me things. I got to the house in time to prevent……"
To… prevent what, for God's sake?"
Sillitoe said harshly, "Oliphant, the officer chosen to be Sir Richard's flag captain, is not only a gambler and a thief, he is one so rotten with disease that he wanted only revenge, in the last and only way he knew."
Tell me, sir is she safe?"
Sillitoe felt his muscles slackening. Had Bethune given a single hint of involvement, he would not have trusted himself.
"She is safe. With no thanks to those who might have protected her."
Bethune persisted, "And Oliphant?"
"He is in care." His mouth hardened. "And under guard. It seems likely he will either die or be driven to the bounds of madness before much longer. If not, he will face a court martial, where the severest penalty will be demanded." He dabbed his mouth with his handkerchief. "And deserved!"
Bethune thought of the night when it had happened. Weeks ago; he should have suspected something. But his wife had been against his becoming further involved. I should have known… Sillitoe added, "I have a few small suggestions to make to Lord Rhodes.
I am confident that they will be easy to act upon."
Bethune looked at the clock. "I fear Lord Rhodes has a prior engagement, my lord. As I explained
Sillitoe said, "Announce me."
Bethune repeated wretchedly, "A prior engagement……"
Sillitoe gave a faint smile. "I know. With the new inspector-general." He laid the envelope on his desk. "Here are my credentials, Sir Graham."
Bethune stared from him to the buff-coloured envelope with its royal seal.
"I shall attend to it immediately!"
Sillitoe walked to a window and stared down at the wet streets, the bowed heads and shoulders of people hurrying for shelter. He should feel something beyond the contempt and impatience they afforded him. But all he could think about was the woman, naked and bound in that small, quiet house in Chelsea. Holding her, protecting her. Wanting her.
The doors opened again; Rhodes had come himself.
"I must congratulate you -i had no idea!" He darted a quick glance at Bethune, and another officer who had followed him. He smiled. "I think our meeting should be recorded, Sillitoe. Everything out in the open, eh?"
Sillitoe did not return the smile. "As you wish. There are several items. To begin with, the desertion from duty by your cousin, Captain Oliphant, and the failure to provide medical evidence when you agreed to discharge him. Courtmartial of fences you will not dispute. Gambling debts, frequenting premises used by prostitutes and becoming diseased to such an extent that he is all but out of his mind. And an attempted rape." He balanced lightly on one foot. "Need I continue, Lord Rhodes?"
Rhodes stared around, barely able to speak. "I shall not need you, gentlemen." When the door closed again he exclaimed thickly, "I did not know about the extent of his illness, I swear it! I wanted only the best chance for him to improve his circumstances."
"Yes. Under Sir Richard Bolitho, the man you tried to humiliate through another."
"What must I do?"
Sillitoe glanced at the painting of a sea fight, Bethune's old ship. Men fighting and dying. He suppressed his mounting fury. For arrogant fools like this.
"Continue as before, my lord, what else might you expect? Your cousin will not disturb you. You have my word on it." He reached down and took his hat from a chair. "I am the new inspector-general, not judge and jury."
Rhodes made a final attempt. "When I am offered the post of First Lord…"
Sillitoe waited for the doors to open for him.
"Be assured, Rhodes." He gave a cold smile. "You will not."
He walked out of the building, and was suddenly glad of the wet pavings and the cool, damp air on his face. He could walk for a while, and think. He recalled Bethune's wife on the night of the reception when he had arrived late, to find Catherine gone; it was the closest he had ever seen her to elation. A conniving woman, who would use her husband when he believed it was the other way about.
He nodded to himself, and was unaware of the scrutiny of passers-by. That was it. It would be better for Bethune, for all concerned perhaps, if he was sent to a new appointment. Somewhere a long, long way from England.
Grace Ferguson watched as a housemaid placed a vase of freshly cut roses by the window and gave them her approval.
"Saw you cutting them yourself, m'lady. Did my heart good."
Catherine smiled. '1 hate it when they are finished." She glanced at the window, to the grey-blue line of the horizon beyond the headland. "I shall try to make them last, in case……"
Grace busied herself tidying some books which did not require it. She had mentioned her thoughts to her husband several times, but Bryan had insisted that her ladyship was well enough, missing Sir Richard, but otherwise the same.
Grace was not so sure, but Bryan was like that. All men were. Lady Catherine was a lovely woman. But she was a human being, for all that. Of course she missed her lover, as she herself had fretted over Bryan all those years ago when he had been snatched up by the hated press gang, along with John Allday. And now look at us… She thought of Catherine's eventual return from London, the strain and tension in her face. One night Grace had arranged a bath for her, and had seen the bruises on her arm, the healed cut on her neck. She had said nothing, not even to Bryan.
Catherine said, "Lady Roxby will be coming this afternoon, Grace."
Lady Roxby she might be to the outside world, but as Richard's sister she could never be anything but Nancy to Catherine. With only the servants for company, she still lived in the big house, with a steward taking care of the estate. Lewis Roxby's presence was still very tangible whenever Catherine had visited, and she thought that Nancy, in her way, was less lonely than herself.